


the way things were

by kieraiwaizumi



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bisexual Jean Kirstein, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Depression, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Everyone is Dead, F/M, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Letters, Lonely Jean Kirstein, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, POV Jean Kirstein, Pining, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Prostitution, Sex, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, jean kirstein - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:53:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29725152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kieraiwaizumi/pseuds/kieraiwaizumi
Summary: "But I still wonder why, out of all of our comrades, was I the one to survive? Now we can never return to the way things were."In which Jean writes letters to Marco nearly a decade after his death.
Relationships: Jean Kirstein/Original Female Character(s), Marco Bott/Jean Kirstein, Mikasa Ackerman/Eren Yeager, Mikasa Ackerman/Jean Kirstein
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28





	1. this is me trying

**Author's Note:**

> Before each chapter, I’ll provide some songs that I highly recommend playing in the background.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs for this chapter:
> 
> Falling- Harry Styles  
> Champagne Problems- Taylor Swift
> 
> Happy reading!

_Dear Marco,_

_I’m not quite sure what to say. I’ve never done this before… Write letters, I mean. My mother used to give me notes with my lunch and I’m starting to wish I had kept them. I’m not really sure of what you’d want me to tell you about._

_Today marks nine years since the Battle of Trost. Nine years without you. It’s hard to believe everything I’ve gone through without you. I’m not sure I can even remember what you look like. But that isn’t important. I do remember what you said to me before we were split up._

_You were right, you know? About me being a leader? I was given the rank of commanding officer in my fourth year in the Survey Corps. I led a squad for two years through absolute hell. The things we saw, Marco, the number of people I killed. You would be so angry with me. I never wanted to kill anyone. I always thought joining would stop the killings. I never wanted to see another person die the way you did._

_Although you should feel lucky you never grew up. Even after a near-decade in the Survey Corps, I’m not sure I ever grew up. Sometimes it feels as though I’m still that haughty 15-year-old who had the brilliant plan to join the Military Police and live a life within the interior. I guess I ended up with what I wished for, though. Historia provided the surviving soldiers with houses in Mitras. It’s nice, I guess. It’s sizable, and my balcony overlooks the main street, but it’s lonely._

_I am 24 now. I figured I'd have a wife, maybe even some children by now. I thought after everything I went through, I’d finally have the right to happiness. I thought I’d be able to move on and find peace. But you were right about another thing; I am weak._

_I wake up at whichever time I’d like, I sit on my balcony, and I pour myself the finest liquor in the walls. For a change of scenery, I’ll go drinking at the inn instead, but that isn’t often. I don’t have many worries, everything is paid for. I spend much of my time by myself. When I get lonely, I think back to training. I guess I never really appreciated many of those people, but you were there. I thought you would always be here._

_You would be proud of me for one reason, though. After you died, I found other people, if you can believe it. People that looked up to me; that relied on me._

_But I still wonder why, out of all of our comrades, was I the one to survive? Now we can never return to the way things were._

_\--Jean_

\--

Jean spun his glass in his right hand. He watched the golden liquid spiral and then brought it to his lips, swallowing the remaining drops of alcohol. It didn’t matter that it was 11 a.m. He craved the burning sensation down his throat. He craved the feeling of forgetfulness. To think, _maybe this life isn’t so bad._ He chuckled. 

Grabbing the letter, he stood up from his chair, opening the French doors that lead to his bedroom. The rooms came furnished. There was a bed, a dresser, a night table, and a fireplace, nothing more. A stranger wouldn’t have known it was occupied had a bottle of whiskey not been there. He didn’t bother to decorate his room. He didn’t care for paintings or plants. He wasn’t one for the finer things. Since he never had company, there was no need to impress anyone. There was no need to make it a home.

Jean crumpled the paper in his left hand, dropping it in front of his bed. Wandering to the nightstand on which the whiskey stood, he reached down, gripping the edge, and feeling the rush of alcohol go to his head. He wasn’t sure what guided him into opening the bottom drawer and pulling out a timeworn sketchbook, likely one that hadn’t seen the light in four years. 

The sketchbook was a birthday gift from his mother. In elementary school, Jean would doodle on his papers instead of taking notes. While the others in Trost would go out and steal from the markets, he would stay in his room sketching images of just about everything he saw. Now, he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d even drawn a flower. It remained almost entirely empty since he joined the Training Corps.

Jean blew the dust off and flipped the cover over, revealing a portrait of a young girl. It must’ve been a draft of the copy he’d torn up as a kid. The girl, with short black hair and a blush upon her face, looked awfully familiar now. He raised an eyebrow. _Mikasa._

It had been months since he had been reminded of her. He’d occasionally hear the other men at the bar discuss the stories of the Scouts, unaware one of them was sitting beside them. The alcohol had washed away most of the past, but now the image was right in front of him. He almost forgot how beautiful she was. Jean had never seen anyone like her. Mikasa was his dream girl. 

_“Tsk.”_ He ripped the sheet out and scrunched it up, tossing it behind him towards the crumpled letter. There wasn’t nearly enough alcohol in his system to think of _her_ right now. 

Jean shut the sketchbook and went to toss it back in its drawer, before noticing the photograph that had been buried under it. The picture, taken in Marley, featured the remaining 104th Training Corps members: Connie, Sasha, Armin, and of course, Mikasa. It had been taken the day they met Niccolo. It was one of the last good memories before the group disassembled. 

Grabbing the photograph, Jean hoisted himself back up from the floor, closing the drawer with his foot. With the same hand that held the photograph, he grabbed the bottle of whiskey off the nightstand and trudged towards the French doors. 

With his occupied hand, Jean attempted to grab the door handle. The bottle slipped through his hands, shattering. The remaining liquid that had been left now spread throughout the wooden floors and saturated the photograph.

“Damn it!” he exclaimed, stepping carefully, avoiding the shards of glass to grab the photograph. 

Jean scrambled through the hallway to the kitchen, which was just as bare as the bedroom. It had hardly been used since moving in. He never cooked, and if he ate, it was at the inn down the street. Jean did, however, have a dirtied rag he used to clean up his perpetual spills. With the photograph still in hand, he grabbed it. With his empty hand, he opened the cupboard to reveal his last unopened bottle, fine wine from Trost. _This wouldn’t be nearly enough to last through the day,_ he thought. 

Jean placed the bottle on the counter and laid the mangled photograph beside it. He took the rag and lightly dabbed the photograph, soaking up the excess whiskey. Reaching through the door frame, he grabbed a broom and dustpan that stood against the wall. It was a routine affair for him, cleaning up broken glass. There were countless dropped glasses over the last few years, not unusual considering his habit of drinking until the floor swayed. 

Returning to his bedroom, Jean began to sweep the shards into the dustpan. _They should make these shits shatterproof._

Jean wandered back to the kitchen, dumped the shards in the garbage pail, and retrieved the new bottle from the counter, being sure to take the photograph with it. Once in his bedroom, he placed the wine where the whiskey stood and walked towards the lit fireplace. He carefully reached his hand towards the fire, catching the photograph with a flame. 

Bringing the photograph back towards him, he watched as the bottom right corner decayed, erasing Sasha. Then Connie. Then Armin. Then Mikasa.

"Fuck,” he muttered, extinguishing the flame and blowing the smoke away. It was too late; they were gone. All that remained was Jean with a blushing grin on his face and his hand on Mikasa's shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Welcome to my (first) fanfic! 
> 
> A little bit about me, I am a 17-year-old aspiring author and AOT fanatic. 
> 
> I decided to write a Jean-centered story since there seems to be a lack of understanding of his actual depth. 
> 
> This first chapter was incredibly difficult to write, considering he was the only character involved. However, I believe I needed to establish where he is (mentally) after the War on Paradis ends. 
> 
> The next chapter will feature an OC, as well as some rather suggestive content. Do not read if any of the tags may be triggering for you. 
> 
> Please keep in mind that I began outlining prior to the release of Chapter 138, so my story will have some canon-divergence. Everything that occurred in Chapter 137 and prior will remain canon-compliant. 
> 
> You can expect updates every 5-10 days, but I am a full-time student with a job, so things can get stressful. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> .
> 
> For questions and more updates, please follow me on Twitter, @KieraIwaizumi


	2. illicit affairs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OC concept art:  
> https://kieraiwaizumi.tumblr.com/tagged/willa-beck
> 
> Songs for this chapter:
> 
> Paralyzer by Finger Eleven (for the chapter’s first half)  
> Hurt You by The Weeknd (second half)
> 
> Happy Reading!

Mitras’ local inn used to be occupied with numerous members of the Survey Corps and Garrison Regiment. However, The Queen’s new law requiring housing for all veterans had changed it into a place where the locals could go drinking. 

Thus, Jean was no stranger to the scene. The bar became his only source of social interaction after the War. Plus, he was rarely recognized by strangers. The regulars, however, did often discuss the stories of the Survey Corps. 

Most of them were rumors, but a couple of them weren’t far from the truth. Jean never interrupted, though, however fabricated they might be. His personal favorite was the one about the captain.  _ "Have you heard? Apparently, Captain Levi slept with all of the female Scouts.”  _ He couldn’t help but laugh at those. The locals were so ignorant about what actually occurred in the Regiments. 

Occasionally, citizens of The Underground would come to the inn too. Their fedoras would shade their faces in the candlelight, and their teeth were as yellow as gold. They’d only come in the evenings when they were sure they wouldn’t be caught by the Military Police. Most were wanted for some form of assault or theft. After a night of  _ fun _ they’d spent with various women, who sold their bodies to make their keep, they would drunkenly trek their way to the inn with smiles upon their faces. 

“Evening, Kirstein.”

“How’s it going, Emil?” Jean replied, shaking the bartender's hand. 

“It’s going,” he sighed. “Whiskey?”

“Yup.”

As Emil poured the glass, he looked up to the dark-haired woman seated to Jean’s left. "Another one for you as well?”

“Please,” she said. Digging into her coin purse, she smiled at Jean, “It’s on me,” 

Jean chortled and turned to the woman. She wore a rather  _ short _ dress that exposed her toned arms. She couldn’t have been much younger than him. “What do you do?” he asked.

“Whatever you’d like.”

Jean raised an eyebrow.  _ A prostitute? There was no way. Sure, she wasn’t bad to look at, but she didn’t have much to make a show of. She was, however, rather muscular— _

She cleared her throat, “And you?”

“I was a commanding officer,” he replied, “for the Scouts.” 

“I would’ve never guessed. You don’t seem the type.”

He took a sip of his whiskey. He knew what she was implying, and she was right. Though a once well-knit soldier, Jean was beginning to show his laxity. At this point, the girl could’ve easily battered him up.

“Well, I wouldn’t take you for a whore.”

“Touché,” she replied, throwing the shot back. “Another round, please.”

The bartender nodded, giving her a quick smirk.  _ There was no doubt she was at least tipsy by now.  _ Jean hadn’t been there nearly as long and already felt the room spinning.

As if in a hurry, she downed the second shot, untroubled by the strong liquor hitting the back of her throat. “How about we get up outta here?”

He shook his head. “You’re drunk.”

“So are you,” she retorted, her voice smoky.

“I’m always drunk.”

“That makes two of us,” she smirked, tilting her head to look him in the eye.

Had she not bought him the extra round, perhaps he would’ve refused. Sure, Jean was lonely, but he was never one to solicit a prostitute. 

“Fine,” he consented, finishing his drink. “I’m not sure I got your name though.”

“Surprised you care enough to ask,  _ Commander. _ ” When his face shifted into bewilderment, she answered. “Willa Beck, but uh— you can call me Beck.”

“Jean.”

“I know who you are,” she replied, getting up from the barstool.

“I’m sorry?”

“Apparently I’m more perceptive than you think, Commander” she teased, grabbing her coat. “As soon as you told me you were in the Survey Corps, I remembered. Everyone in the Walls is aware of the ‘ _ Lone Survivor. _ ’”

“I didn't know prostitutes were supposed to make conversation,” he scoffed, heading towards the door.

“And I didn’t know commanders were so belligerent.” 

Beck slipped on her coat, following him out of the inn. Mitras was rarely below freezing, but the chilly nights were reason enough to layer. Jean looked over to the girl, glazing over her long, bare legs. She fiddled with the buttons, shuttering when the wind picked up. He chuckled.

“Didn’t dress appropriately?” he teased. Glaring at him, it was clear that she did not appreciate his pleasantry. He cleared his throat, “So how long have you been, um— working.”

“Three years.” 

“I see, and what about before that?”

“I thought we weren’t going to chitchat.”

“Right, sorry.”  _ Stupid question, why would she tell a stranger? It isn’t likely she meets many innocuous men. Who was he to ask?  _ “This is my house, just up ahead.” He gestured to the building on his right.

Beck followed Jean up the stairs to the upper level of the house, her heels clicking against the cobblestone. It was rare for her to be working somewhere other than the subterranean city of The Underground. 

“Would you- uh, like anything?” Jean stuttered as they walked through the kitchen. His steps were slow as he led her, hands gripping tightly around his coat lapel. Because his mind was running so fast, it conveniently had to be  _ him  _ that tripped over the corner of the rug that had been in his house since his move over four years ago.

“ _ Shit! _ ” He flew forward, safely regaining his footing after a moment. That didn’t make him feel any less mortified, however. 

Jean looked up, his face heating as his eyes darted to anything but the woman next to him. His calloused hand rubbed at the back of his neck as he spotted the half-empty wine bottle he’d left earlier on the counter. “I’ve got wine… or water, uh- if you would like?” he mumbled, trying to dissipate his embarrassing miscalculation. 

Beck had turned around, giggling quietly to herself as she’d watched him stumble.  _ This one was cute,  _ she thought, _ innocent even. _

Jean was, in fact, nervous. He had never had a woman step into his _ house _ . Maybe he was just naive, but when he was in the Corps, he didn’t have the time for relationships, let alone sex. Things like that felt insignificant at a time when he was perpetually surrounded by death, destruction, and derelict. 

“No,” she answered, slipping her black pumps off. 

He nodded anxiously at her rather abrasive response, continuing his walk to his bedroom. “I’ll take your coat-” he offered before being pushed through the door frame and towards the bed.

“That won’t be necessary,” she smirked, undoing the buttons of her coat. 

His head cocked to the side, his mouth dry and falling open in surprise, “What?”

Beck smirked, grabbing his collar and pushing him onto the mattress. She placed her hands onto his chest, beginning their descent down his torso. Her parted lips landed with fervor on the corner of his mouth. Her sharp, dagger-like nails traced gently down his stomach, pushing his coat down his arms and finding their place onto his belt buckle. 

“I said,  _ that won’t be necessary _ .” Purring into Jean’s ear, she pressed her palm onto his growing bulge and giggled when she heard his breath hitch.

She moved away from his ear, her lips pressing onto the spot behind it first. Then, a little lower down, finding the vein which seemed to protrude past the tanned skin of his neck. 

Beck pulled back for a moment, her eyes dragging down his slightly enfeebled figure. “How I’d love to get you out of this stupid shirt,  _ pretty boy. _ ” Her hands reached forward, starting at the top button of his shirt, her deft fingers unbuttoning one after the other swiftly. 

_ This is going to be fun,  _ she thought.

Jean shuddered with anticipation but let her do her job. She was done quickly with the shirt, which surprised him. In fact, a lot about this situation surprised him. She was scarily beautiful, which intimidated him. Her beautiful blue eyes contrasted the harshness of her black locks. Not that he’d say anything. He shrugged off the shirt, plenty grateful to have it off his back after the day he’s had. 

She stopped her movements for a moment, looking directly at him, watching his muscles flex with each breath. A small smirk adorned her features, her eyes twinkling in the dim moonlight. Jean froze, unsure of what she’ll say. 

“Do I scare you,  _ Commander? _ ” 

She waits for his reply, but when she doesn’t get one, she lunges forward and nips at his neck once more. 

Jean’s head fell back, a long, breathy moan escaping his lips. “Fuck,” his voice had dropped a few octaves, rough from the tension blanketing the room. His face heated, not expecting a sound like that to leave him. 

Beck continued, mouthing hotly at his neck, and she was sure that she’d leave at least a few light marks. She didn’t do that with her customers, but something about him was different. 

Maybe it was the way he danced his fingertips along her sides rather than pull at her hips. Or the way his eyes wandered everywhere but her. Beck could tell he was nervous. She could tell he wasn’t used to this. She didn’t expect this from the Commander, who had towered over her at the inn. He was gentle, almost as if he was trying not to break her. 

Her fingers moved back to his belt. Showing no hesitation, she undid the buckle and unbuttoned his trousers. As she pulled the zipper, Jean’s breath caught in his throat, a pit forming in his stomach.

“I think we should-” he whimpered, “-slow down.”

Beck pulled the belt from the pant loops, oblivious to Jean’s request.  _ For once in her life, she was finally in control.  _ She skimmed her fingers along his waistband, her lips curling into a sly smile. She’d never once felt powerful in bed; it was so  _ freeing.  _ She was a dog off a leash, and she was going slightly rogue at the pure thought of it. 

“Please-”

_ Shit, he was being serious. _ Her hands retracted, pulling her body back immediately. She looked up at him, sweat dripping from his forehead. 

“Commander, are you okay? Sorry, I didn’t mean-” Beck’s voice raised in pitch, her eyes darting around, trying to read his expression. Had she stepped over the line? She must’ve gone too far. This type of reaction wasn’t standard for her customers. During her days down in The Underground, and even now, she was never the one in control. 

But  _ their  _ hands would wander blithely over her body.  _ Their  _ eyes never once looked at her face.  _ Their  _ mouths never showed her an authentic kiss.  _ They _ would only ever use her. She was a toy, a plaything, and nothing more.  _ They  _ never treated her with respect, and they weren’t obligated to. Her job was to be obedient to  _ them.  _ To serve  _ them.  _

Jean, seeing her become instantly unsettled, shook his head, “No, I- You didn’t-” 

Beck stood up, smiling apprehensively. “Don’t worry, it’s okay. Sorry, that was my mistake. I’ll be leaving now.” She reached down for her coat, noticing that apart from her shoes, it was the only item of clothing she’d taken off until now. 

_ That’s odd. _ Usually, she was expected to immediately undress, sparing no time in performing her duties. By now, her dress should be torn, her panties at her ankles. Seeing only her coat laid across the floor surprised her immensely. 

As she reached for her shoes, her eyes drifted to a crumpled piece of paper at the corner of the bed. Beck was no stranger to the occasional theft; that was the only way to survive in The Underground. She tucked it into her coat. 

Jean extended his arm towards his coat and reached into the pocket, pulling out his wallet. 

“Here,” he said, holding out a handful of coins.

“That’s quite alright,” she refused, pushing his hand away. “I guess I’ll see you around, Commander." 

“Yeah, see you—” he nodded, but she was already out the door. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I'm sure many of my readers prefer I jump right into the smut, I wanted to keep this story as close to canon as possible. That's where the “slow burn” tag comes into play.
> 
> Realistically, most of the scouts probably remained virgins throughout their careers, and I don't think Jean was ever interested in anyone beyond Mikasa.
> 
> Hopefully, some realism will appeal to you guys. 
> 
> What do you guys think of Beck so far? Remind you of anyone?
> 
> Did you guys also notice something about the chapter titles?
> 
> Also a special thanks to my beta reader, Amy (@ leviclnreese) for all their help on this heavy chapter.
> 
> Next chapter: 3.12.21
> 
> x Kiera

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Welcome to my (first) fanfic! 
> 
> A little bit about me, I am a 17-year-old aspiring author and AOT fanatic. 
> 
> I decided to write a Jean-centered story since there seems to be a lack of understanding of his actual depth. 
> 
> Please keep in mind that I began outlining prior to the release of Chapter 138, so my story will have some canon-divergence. Everything that occurred in Chapter 137 and prior will remain canon-compliant. 
> 
> You can expect updates every 5-10 days, but I am a full-time student with a job, so things can get stressful. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> .
> 
> For questions and more updates, please follow me on Twitter, @KieraIwaizumi


End file.
